


Captain, oh Captain

by areyoucoldflash (hellosterek)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Firefighter AU, Len is a dancer, M/M, exotic dancer au, mick is a firefighter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosterek/pseuds/areyoucoldflash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick is a firefighter who just needs to relax. Len is the exotic dancer that helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [believesinponds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/believesinponds/gifts).



> This started as something completely different, but then the idea of Len as a dancer trickled in and...well, one thing led to another and here you goooo. I'm gifting this to Allison because her firefighter!Mick fic inspired this one and because she's the one who wanted ColdWave. (Also because she's awesome!) :D
> 
> Oh, and I wrote this at 2am so there may be a few typos. I will edit more carefully later. :)

Mick hung up his jacket and dusted off his helmet, placing it on the shelf by the door. He glanced into the apartment with a soft sigh. The darkness and quiet always made him anxious in a way the chaos of his job never did. Fighting fires was something he could do, they were something he could handle, but his thoughts? He couldn't stand being alone with them for too long.

Instead of toeing off his boots like he normally would around this time of night, he reached for a sweatshirt hanging on the rack and slipped it on over his stained white t-shirt. He grabbed a black beanie off the shelf and slid it over his short hair before slipping back out the door.

He knew he looked like a mess. He hadn't bothered showering after his shift at the fire station, hadn't even bothered to wipe the black sludge from his face. He'd just grabbed his things and left on his motorcycle.

As he walked down the street, keeping to the sidewalk, he felt liberated for the first time that day. The minute he took the jacket with the axe and ladder insignia off he was no longer Mick Rory, Central City firefighter. He was just Mick Rory, part time arsonist and full time asshole.

He didn't have many buddies, but that was the way he liked it. He couldn't deal with all those people badgering him or sticking their noses in his business all the time. He liked his privacy. It sure made his extracurriculars easier to participate in.

And if he sometimes found himself going downtown to the strip joints, well, that was no one's concern but his own. He did have needs, after all. The only time he'd ever regretted frequenting Fire and Ice was when he ran into a couple colleagues. The encounter had been more than a little awkward, with Mick grunting responses and Barry Allen rambling about small worlds while Clyde Mardon just laughed.

Mick had vowed to never frequent the place so early in the night ever again, if only to be spared the ridiculous jests the next day at work.

He had a sense of humor...when he wasn't the butt of everyone's jokes.

Mick wandered into Fire and Ice that night with a relaxed air about him. He wasn't looking for much, just a cheap show for mental imagery he could stow away for later. He nodded to the security and made his way inside, heading straight for the bar to buy a tumbler of whisky.

He perched on one of the stools and swiped a toothpick from an abandoned plate beside him, piercing his tongue with the end of it and sucking on the bland wood. The bartender was quick with the drink, with few other customers around him. Most of them were near the stage, whistling and hooting for "more skin, papi".

Mick directed his gaze toward the show, eyes raking over the thin frame of the familiar dancer. Pied Piper's boyish face shown in the bright light as he moved, hands dancing over muscular thighs and toned abs. It was nothing Mick hadn't seen before, but the way the kid moved never ceased to amaze him. He was so fluid and energetic, his gaze so heated, that Mick always found it hard to look away. The slight uptick of the kid's lips, that sly smirk that he cast out into the crowd, was what always got Mick riled the most though. He wanted to punish the kid for his cockiness, to take control of the kid's body and show him how it was really done.

The fantasies never went farther than that though. It was just wishful thinking on his part. He had a particular...appetite that he was sure this kid wouldn't be able to handle. Plus, dominating the kid would be too easy.

When Pied Piper finished with a split on the stage and a kiss to the audience, Mick was on his second drink. He grabbed his glass and tipped his head at the bartender, moving toward the stage. He stood a little ways away, a little surprised that some people were leaving. The best part hadn't even begun yet.

The stage darkened and Mick took a seat, sipping lazily at his drink. He didn't notice when more people got up to leave or when a few new people came in to enjoy the show. He kept his eyes on the stage, waiting.

A few minutes later, a gust of cool air blew from somewhere above the stage and Mick sucked air between his teeth, spreading his legs in anticipation. Blue lights flickered, the stage shimmering in the light.

"I think it's time for you to cool down," came the familiar, cheesy line from the speakers. But that wasn't what got Mick, oh no, it was the silhouette that appeared on the stage. The dark, outlined figure struck a dancer pose, grabbing a hold of his ankle and lifting his leg while tilting his torso forward. His muscular arm stretched out in front of him, fingers splayed toward the ceiling.

A few whistles echoed through the room, but for the most part, everyone was silent, watching the dancer move from one pose to the next. When the blue lights stopped flickering, Captain Cold had his knees on the floor, his back tilted backwards, his arms reaching behind him toward the floor while he stared straight up at the ceiling.

Mick was transfixed by the shape of his body, the way it contorted so fluidly, and let his eyes wander over the tattoos littering his smooth skin. He traced a snake along the swell of the man's arm, traced the tongue up the man's neck, and then traced the spider web down the man's chest. Mick wanted to reach out and touch, to taste the ink and the man's glistening skin.

His gaze went to the man's hardened nipples, imagining his tongue curling around the swollen nub, tweaking it between his teeth.

A huff of breath drifted in front of Mick's face, a thick puff of fog in the air conditioned room. He set his drink aside and reached for his pants, adjusting himself and spreading his legs wide.

When the Captain moved again, he pushed himself backwards, shifting his weight to his hands and bracing his feet on the floor. He pushed himself up onto his hands before elegantly pushing himself over, touching his feet to the stage and pushing himself up to a standing position. He cast an indulgent smirk at the audience, blue eyes moving around the room.

Mick shifted in his seat, waiting. Soon, those blue eyes met his and the Captain's gaze drifted over him, his smirk widening.

The dancer glanced away and moved across the stage, twisting and bending his body in new ways that showed off his various tattoos. He moved toward the stairs, easing down them with a fluid motion. He ran his hands along the chests of his audience, conveniently skipping over some of the older men in the crowd.

Mick's breath stuttered when the Captain neared him, hand just gently brushing the collar of his sweatshirt, a touch that was barely felt through the thick fabric. The Captain paused in front of him, dragging his fingertips down Mick's chest, along his stomach, and to his thigh. The man twisted himself, nudging Mick's legs further apart as he eased himself down, head between Mick's legs.

Mick watched with a heated gaze, eyes locked on the man's blue irises as they looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes. Mick yearned to reach for him, to drag blunt fingernails across the back of his scalp, to tug him closer. He longed to feel those pretty pink lips part for him, to let him slip a finger or two into his mouth, to let the man taste his skin.

But he kept his hands firmly at his sides, fingers curling and jaw clenching.

The Captain eventually eased himself up Mick's body, chest brushing Mick's and lips just barely grazing the skin of his cheek. He plucked the toothpick from Mick's teeth and flicked it to the ground, guiding Mick's hand to his back, as he moved to straddle his thighs.

Mick gasped at the contact, his calloused fingers skating over the smooth, tattooed skin of the dancer's back.

The man's fingers slipped under Mick's beanie, pushing it off and to the ground. He slid his fingers into Mick's hair, gripping lightly and pulling his head back to look at him as he began moving his hips. Mick's eyes dipped down the length of the man's body on top of him, relishing in the way the tattoos danced across firm muscle. The tattoos seemed to spiral across his stomach, disappearing into the man's tight underwear, and Mick wished he could explore the design.

The man smirked like he knew what Mick was thinking. He probably did, but Mick didn't find himself caring too much. He was damned good at what he did and it was the reason Mick always found himself coming back.

The dancer swirled his hips, pressing ever closer. Mick could almost feel the man's dick against his thigh and grunted when the man made contact, tugging roughly at Mick's hair. Mick met his gaze and pushed his luck, dipping his hands down over the swell of the man's ass.

The danger jerked forward in slight surprise when Mick squeezed the firm muscle, but quickly recovered, smirking. He placed a lingering kiss just below Mick's chin and eased back, running his hands down Mick's chest before lifting himself up and away.

When Captain Cold made his way back to the stage, his gaze wandered back to Mick's. They held each other's gaze for a beat before the dancer fell back into yoga poses, his costume doing nothing to hide his fully hardened dick.

There were hoots and hollers from around the room, but Mick had had his fill. He downed the rest of his drink and went to the bar to pay his tab.

The bartender gave him a knowing once-over that Mick firmly ignored. He tossed the bartender the cash and walked out the front door, glancing back just in time to see the stage go dark. It had been a good show, one of the better ones that Mick had been to, and it had done exactly what Mick needed it to.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he made the short trek back to his house and locked the door behind him.

The silence and the darkness no longer seemed so oppressive, no longer seemed so threatening. Stripping himself of his sweatshirt and losing his pants along the way to the bedroom, he fell into bed with his hand tracing the places the Captain's hands had been.

And if he got off that night to thoughts of the man's touch and the way he moved on top of him...well, that was no one's business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miiiight continue this. (I probably will, but I'm not making any promises.)
> 
> I know the ending was a bit abrupt, but if I do decide to continue this, the good stuff will come later. ;)


	2. Captain Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len isn't dancing tonight and Mick is disappointed...until he isn't...

Mick looked at himself in the mirror, ignoring the few scars that littered his face, and touched the razor to his scalp. He dragged the cool metal over his head, cutting the hair away. It had begun to get unruly. At least, that’s what everyone kept saying. Personally, he didn’t care what his hair looked like, but he figured if everyone was saying the same thing, it was about time to chop it all off.

 

And he did look better once it was gone, he would admit. He knew he wasn’t much to look at other than the muscle he continued to build from his job, but he was something. Something was better than nothing, he supposed.

 

Stepping into the shower, he washed away the excess hair and let his mind wander to Captain Cold. He’d gone to see the man a few more times since he got the lap dance and every time he would swear the man looked right at him. It was never anything more than a glance, but it always left Mick eager for something more.

 

Mick figured the lap dance had been a one time thing, something he did every few shows to keep things interesting. The man had given a few other customers lap dances, but none quite as sensual as the one he gave Mick. Maybe Mick was biased. Fuck if he knew.

 

Tonight, he didn’t expect any different. He was merely following routine: put out fires during the day, come home, fail to keep his demons at bay, head to Fire and Ice for a pleasant distraction, come home, beat off, and sleep. If he mixed a few extracurriculars into the chaos, he was the only one who needed to know the particulars.

 

Feeling the oppressiveness of his empty house, he shrugged into a leather jacket and stepped out into the night. He immediately regretted losing his beanie at the club when he felt the chilling air on his scalp. He frowned, keeping his hands tucked firmly in his pockets. The cool metal of the lighters in either pocket rested like placating hands on the skin of his knuckles. They were a reminder of what he could do, of the power he had over his life and the lives of others. One small flicker and all could be lost, diminished to mere ash and smoke.

 

But he couldn’t think about that now. His knuckles already twitched along the metal, fingers stretching to wrap around them. He couldn’t spark the fire he so desperately wanted to set free, to watch the flames dance across rooftop to rooftop and street to street. He couldn’t, although there was nothing more he’d rather see than the world around him burn.

 

He stepped into Fire and Ice a little later than usual due to the care he paid to his appearance. Pied Piper was just finishing up on stage, falling into a split with a kiss to the audience.

 

Mick took his place at the bar, ordering his usual and glancing over his shoulder in feigned interest. He knew who was next after Piper, but he didn’t want to appear too eager. Captain Cold wouldn’t be on for another few minutes at least.

 

“Hot date tonight?” the bartender questioned, placing Mick’s drink in front of him.

 

Mick turned back around, hand curling automatically around his glass. He observed the man in front of him, taking in the trimmed stubble and light brown hair. He grunted and rolled his eyes. Him, date? Hell no.

 

The man laughed. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” He glanced down the bar, toward an approaching customer, before leaning forward. “Your name’s Mick, right?”

 

Mick tensed, hand curling tightly around his drink, and turned a hard stare on the man. He didn’t like getting recognized outside work hours. He vaguely wondered who, exactly, wanted to know who he was. The man didn’t look familiar.

 

The bartender raised his hands, moving to wipe a glass. “Sorry, I forgot you’re not a people person.”

 

Mick’s curiosity was finally piqued and he raised his eyebrows. “Do I know you?”

 

The brunet shook his head. “No, but you know my brother, Clyde.”

 

Mick took another look at him and, upon closer inspection, he could see the faint resemblance. “You Mark?”

 

“Indeed, I am,” Mark muttered quickly before moving to deal with a customer.

 

Realizing that was the longest conversation he’d had in this place, Mick quickly chugged the rest of his drink and turned back toward the stage just as the lights came on. When he saw someone other than Captain Cold on stage, he frowned.

 

“You look disappointed.”

 

Mick spun around to look at the man who slid into the seat next to him, feeling himself go rigid once again. What was with people tonight? Did the effort he’d put into his appearance give everyone the impression he wanted to talk?

 

“Nope,” Mick stated simply, staring straight ahead and sipping at the drink that Mark refilled before disappearing again.

 

“Hm,” the man hummed. “You sure? You seem…tense.”

 

Mick turned sharply to the man. “Look, buddy—“

 

He stopped himself before he could say anything else, eyes dipping down to the familiar, tantalizing smirk of Captain Cold. Of course, he didn’t look like Captain Cold. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a navy hoodie with the hood pulled up over his forehead. But even with the shadows over his face, Mick recognized him.

 

The man’s smirk widened and he reached for the glass in front of him, taking a slow and deliberate drink.

 

“Ain’t you supposed to be up on stage?” was Mick’s brilliant reaction. He reached a hand into his pocket and touched his fingers to a lighter, letting the cool metal ground him.

 

Light blue eyes found his. “I was. Earlier this evening. Had to switch places with a friend who had...other engagements.”

 

Mick turned back to his drink with a grunt. “Sorry I missed it.”

 

The man chuckled. “Have to say, so am I. Your face is one I’m becoming familiar with…Mick, right?”

 

Mick raised his eyebrows in surprise, which only made the man laugh and nod in the Mark's direction. Mick pursed his lips and took a long drink of his whiskey. He’d been listening to their conversation then. “If you ain’t dancing, what are you doing here so late?”

 

He tilted his head to the side, casting a considering glance at Mick. “Wanted to see if I was missed.”

 

Mick glanced at him, unable to look away for too long. It felt odd to see the man up close and in so many clothes. Mick had a hard time associating this man with the one who’d given him the lap dance only a few weeks prior. He didn't appear nearly as confident as he did while in costume. Although, he still wore the same self-assured smirk he always wore up on stage. “Ain’t you worried about someone recognizing you?”

 

The Captain snorted into his drink and rolled his eyes. “No. Believe me, most of these people are only focused on one thing while I’m on stage. My face isn’t it. No one recognizes me out of costume.”

 

Mick frowned. “I recognized you.”

 

The Captain smiled, a soft, lopsided thing that completely threw the Cold persona out the door. It caught Mick off guard. “Yes…you do seem to be the exception.”

 

Mick held his gaze for a beat then cleared his throat, glancing toward the stage. He watched a thin, fragile looking man twist himself for the crowd’s amusement and sighed. The show really wasn’t the same without the man sitting next to him.

 

He finished off his drink and waved Mark back over to pay his tab. If he wasn’t gonna get any entertainment tonight there was no point in staying.

 

“Have somewhere else to be, Mick?”

 

His name rolling off the dancer’s tongue made him pause, but only for a moment. He shrugged, tossing some cash onto the bar. He nodded toward the stage. “Not quite what I came here for.”

 

Captain Cold’s tell-tale smirk returned and he pushed his hood back to reveal his face. His eyes moved slowly down Mick’s attire, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “And what, exactly, did you come here for?”

 

Mick bit the inside of his cheek, trying to gauge the man’s intentions. Seeing sly curiosity, Mick smirked. “Think we both know, don’t we?”

 

The man’s eyes met his. “Mm, I have do have some idea.” He tilted his head. “Although…with the effort you put in tonight…I can’t help but wonder if you planned to seduce me.”

 

Mick huffed out a gruff laugh, glancing down at himself. He knew the jacket was a tight fit and the jeans hugged his thighs in ways he’d normally find intrusive and uncomfortable, but he doubted it’d be enough to seduce someone, especially the Captain. 

 

He shook his head. “Just didn’t want to smell like fire tonight.”

 

The man raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t quite believe him. Mick didn’t really blame him. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t put on some nicer looking clothes in the hopes of grabbing the man’s attention. Granted, he’d only hoped for another lap dance, but he figured this sort of attention was fine too. The exchange didn’t have quite the same heat he was after, but, surprisingly, conversation with the man wasn’t unbearable.

 

“That’s right,” the dancer drawled, nodding. “You work with Mardon’s brother, which makes you a firefighter.” He eyed Mick appreciatively. “Certainly explains a few things.”

 

Mick made a face, wondering if he should be offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

The man chuckled, holding up a placating hand. “Just that, sometimes, you look and smell like you’ve been rolling around in ash.”

 

Mick grunted, mind going back to the night the man sat in his lap and kissed his neck. Was that what he’d smelled of that night? He vaguely remembered being covered in ash and soot. If he let himself think about it long enough, he could remember the way the man felt on top of him too. The memory wasn’t a bad one, especially when he remembered the way the man’s ass felt in his hands. He smirked. “Didn’t seem to bother you last time.”

 

The man raised an eyebrow. “You’re right, it didn’t.”

 

Mick ran his tongue over his bottom lip, averting his gaze to his empty glass on the counter. He really wanted to get out of there, but didn’t feel right ending the conversation as it was. He glanced back at the man. “You gonna be dancin’ at your regular time tomorrow?”

 

The Captain’s eyes brightened when he smiled and he slid off his stool, moving into Mick’s space. “Why? You eager to see me again, _Mick_?”

 

One of the dancer’s hands moved to Mick’s stomach, thumb sneaking past the shirt to graze his skin. Mick’s breath stuttered in faint surprise, but he schooled his expression, forcing a cocky smirk as he guided the man’s hand down to his pants. “Might be.”

 

The man looked down, curling his fingers against Mick’s jeans with a faint hum. “Very eager, indeed.”

 

A soft gasp popped from Mick’s lips when the man’s fingers squeezed him through his jeans, hips arching into the touch. 

 

The man chuckled and angled himself closer, skating his lips along Mick’s stubbled jaw until he reached his ear. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private?”

 

Mick swallowed roughly, giving a small nod and stepping back, letting the dancer’s hand fall away. He paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. “I’m not payin’ you.”

 

The Captain’s smile faltered, eyes hardening. “Didn’t ask you to. Now, you in or are you out?”

 

Mick grinned. “Yeah, buddy. I’m in.” 

  
He let himself be tugged by his jacket toward the entrance, where he then took the lead, leading the dancer down the street toward his house. The quiet, dark oppressiveness would have no place in his home that night. Instead, it would be replaced with heated, charged energy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be smutty. ;D


	3. Leonard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, smut happens.

The moment Mick made it through the front door, he found himself face first against the wall. He grunted and twisted his neck around to stare at the man’s bright blue eyes in the dark. He could faintly make out the fire in the man’s eyes, the slight slant of his lips as he smirked from behind Mick. His arms rested securely on Mick’s back, but the man didn’t put his weight into it. Mick could easily turn around and fight for dominance. That was, if he wanted to.

 

Normally, when it came to fucking with men, Mick liked to do the fucking. He liked turning their bodies around and pushing them forcefully into nearby surfaces, taking them apart from behind. He liked being rough, leaving bruises along quaking bodies and drawing elicit moans from open mouths. He liked taking them apart, inch by inch, moan by drawn-out moan. He wanted to do that to the Captain, he wanted to shove into him, to claim him, to make him a quivering mess on his bed. But he wanted something else too.

 

With the man’s brilliant blues staring at him and his weight pressing into his back, Mick realized he wanted the man to do the same to him. He wanted to be dominated, to be broken in in ways he’d never been before. He wanted this man to fuck him.

 

“You just gonna stand there and gawk at me, Captain? Or are you gonna fuck me?”

 

The man took a deliberate step forward, closing in around him with his arms on either side of Mick. “Is that what you want?”

 

“Think I’d be askin’ if it wasn’t want I wanted?” Mick questioned, pushing himself back against the man’s body. He relished in the warmth radiating off him, relished in the way their bodies fit against each other.

 

The man huffed an annoyed breath, but moved his hands to Mick’s pants, tugging at his belt and zipper. Mick kept his hands to himself, bracing himself against the wall. He knew it would be much easier to turn around and let them both see what they were working with. He knew he’d enjoy being able to see the man’s lithe and muscular body, to see how it moved in the faint moonlight coming in through the window. But he needed this, needed it to be impersonal, to be nothing but heat and burning anger. He hoped the man fucked him hard and fast.

 

Mick’s thoughts were silenced when the man’s skin touched his, calloused hands moving down Mick’s thighs as he pushed down his pants and underwear. His hands wrapped around Mick’s cock, giving him an exploratory tug before moving his hands along the curve of Mick’s ass. He gave the muscle a tight squeeze that left Mick canting his hips forward against the wall. He growled, low in his throat, and the Captain moved his hands slowly down his legs, following the curve of his thighs. 

 

He pulled off Mick’s boots and helped him out of his pants, shoving them aside. His hands dipped in between Mick’s legs, skating along his thighs and pushing them further apart, until he reached his ass. Mick hissed in surprise when a tongue flicked against the tight ring of muscle and he spread his legs further apart, pushing his ass back. The man’s tongue teased, swirled, and pressed in, making Mick wish he had something to hold onto. His hands curled into fists at his side and he bit his bottom lip, biting it hard enough to draw blood.

 

It wasn’t until a slick finger pressed between the tight ring of muscle that Mick thought to ask, “You ain’t got any diseases, do you?”

 

The Captain’s finger paused only long enough for him to kiss up Mick’s back, dragging his t-shirt up and over his head. He pushed his finger deeper, curling the tip and making Mick gasp. “I’m clean, but I’ll wear a condom.”

 

Mick nodded, moaning. “Yeah, buddy, okay. I’m cl — ah — ean too.”

 

The man pressed his lips to the back of Mick’s shoulder, adding a second finger and smirking. “Good.”

 

Mick eased a hand down to wrap around his dick, giving a few soft tugs. He groaned. “Buddy, if you don’t fuck me soon—”

 

He earned a swift slap to his ass and swore, bucking forward. The man behind him tsked, but slowly teased a third finger. He carefully eased it in, hand on Mick’s shoulder to keep him steady. He moved his fingers slowly, stretching and easing him open. Mick shook in pain and impatience, moving his hips in time with the man’s fingers. When the man crooked his fingers just right, Mick cried out and pounded a fist against the wall. He stopped touching himself in fear that he would cum too quickly.

 

“Fuck,” Mick swore, peering back at him. The Captain’s face was slack, eyebrows pinched in concentration, and his pretty pink lips were open in a pant. He looked gorgeous. Mick pushed himself into a standing position, twisting his torso to grab the man’s neck and pull him into a searing kiss. 

 

The kiss was reciprocated, the dancer biting down on Mick’s lip as he let his fingers slip out and curl behind Mick’s neck. He nudged Mick’s legs apart, arm moving to wrap around Mick’s stomach to pull him closer. Mick vaguely registered the tearing of a wrapper and then the man rolling on a condom and slicking himself with lube. Mick shook with impatience, but yelled when the man finally pushed in with a sudden, hard jerk of his hips.

 

The Captain wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly around the middle to keep him still, to calm and comfort him. Mick shook and ground his teeth together, fisted hands resting against the wall, blunt fingernails digging into his palms. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of this, had only done it a handful of times, and it  _ burned _ . But as the man began to move his hips, easing himself in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, the pain faded and he moaned through his teeth, wanting more.  _ Needing _ more.

 

“That all you got, Captain?” Mick taunted.

 

The Captain dragged his hand up Mick’s chest, pinching a nipple, and making Mick cry out. “I’m capable of a lot of things.” He snapped his hips a little harder, drawing grunts and bated breaths from the man in front of him. He rubbed his calloused fingertips against Mick’s nipples. “I’ve been watching you for a while, Mick.”

 

Mick panted, feeling like the breath was constantly getting knocked out of him with each of the Captain’s thrusts. He wished he could see them, to see how fucking beautiful they looked together as the man took Mick from behind, hands never resting as they traveled Mick’s heated skin. The thought of the dancer watching him should have been creepy, but it only made him shiver. He obviously knew that Mick had been watching him for a while too.

 

“Always in the crowd,” the Captain continued, hands gripping Mick’s hips. “Always watching.” He trailed his hands over the swell of Mick’s ass then up his back to his shoulders. “You like the show, don’t you, Mick? Like to see what my body can do.”

 

Mick growled, a whine working up his throat, and turned his head to the side, pressing his lips to one of the Captain’s fingers. The man touched the tip of his finger to Mick’s lips and Mick sucked it into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the fingertip. The man gasped and hooked his finger in Mick’s mouth, wrapping a firm arm around Mick’s waist as he slammed his hips forward.

 

“I know you like what you see,” the man continued, voice strained and breathless. “You touch yourself afterwards, don’t you? You come home and think of me. I bet you’ve thought of this moment, thought of me fucking you, of taking my cock up your ass.”

 

“F-f-fuck,” Mick panted. He grit his teeth and clawed at the wall. “ _ Yes _ .”

 

“I bet you’ve thought of fucking me too,” the Captain speculated, hand moving to wrap around Mick’s dick. “Of fucking me in your bed, of taking me apart until I’m cumming all over your mattress.”

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Mick cursed, thrusting into the man’s hand, the friction almost too much. “Yes. P— _ ah _ —lease.”

 

He didn’t know what he was begging for. He didn’t know what he was saying or if what he was saying even made any sense. The only thing he could focus on was the stimulation, the way Captain Cold was fucking into him, the way his experienced hand moved over his cock, and how much he  _ didn’t want this to be over yet _ . He screwed his eyes shut and focused on his thrusts, trying not to cum too quickly.

 

“That’s right, Mick,” the man growled, the sound tight and feral. His thrusts were becoming erratic, his hand around Mick’s dick tightening. “You’re going to get what you want, but you have to cum for me first.  _ Cum for me, Mick _ .”

 

Mick’s jaw twitched around the man’s finger before he shouted, giving his hips a mighty thrust before he came against the wall. He groaned “ _ fuck Captain _ ” and nearly fell forward, legs threatening to give out on him. The man held him tightly from behind, keeping him still as he snapped his hips, skin slapping loudly against skin until finally his hips stuttered and he shouted.

 

For a while, neither of them moved, the Captain keeping them upright. As Mick came back to his senses, he eyed the glistening mess on the wall with a grimace. The clean up would be a bitch, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it. He felt more relaxed than he’d felt in days, probably  _ months _ , and he knew he’d be feeling this in the days to follow. He figured he'd have plenty of mental imagery to last him until he could get off with someone again.

 

But wait a minute...hadn’t he…

 

Mick carefully eased out of the man’s firm grasp, the man’s flaccid dick slipping from him, and released the man’s finger from his mouth. A trail of saliva slipped down the man’s hand and Mick wiped his mouth, turning around and letting his eyes dip shamelessly down the man’s delicately muscled body. The man was absolutely gorgeous. He remembered the dark tattoos rolling over his skin, covered now by the shirt the man had never taken off. Mick still wanted to trace them with his tongue, to follow the intricate lines ending just above his waist. He stepped forward confidently, meeting the man’s gaze, and pulled him into a kiss that surprised Mick. The kiss wasn’t rough like he’d intended, but gentle and unhurried. He dipped his tongue into the man’s mouth, exploring the roof of his mouth and tangling with his tongue. 

 

When they parted, the fire in the dancer’s eyes returned, but it was softer, something Mick wasn’t afraid would burn him.

 

“You said I’d get what I want,” Mick quoted, lifting his eyebrows. He was curious to know if the man had meant what he’d said, had even been aware of it, or if it’d just been said in the heat of the moment.

 

The Captain smirked, glancing down Mick with amusement. “Didn’t you?”

 

Mick scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not what I meant.”

 

The man’s amusement wavered, eyes zeroing in on Mick’s arms. He hummed, flicking his gaze up to meet Mick’s. “I’d be more than happy to let you fuck me sometime, Mick.” He tilted his head to the side. “But not tonight.” He averted his attention to the door they’d barely made it through that night. “It would be devastating if I was too sore to dance tomorrow, wouldn’t it?”

 

Mick grunted. “Tragic.”

 

The man smirked, picking his pants up off the floor and slipping back into them. He eyed Mick’s body appreciatively. “I  _ am _ curious to see what you can do with those muscles though.”

 

Mick returned the smirk, letting his arms fall to his sides as he glanced down at himself. His body and the way he’d sculpted it over the years was the one thing about himself he was pleased with. He was glad the time he’d put into it paid off. “Guess we’ll have to do this again.”

 

Captain Cold’s smirk widened and he stepped forward, reaching around Mick to squeeze his ass. Mick stumbled forward in surprise, felt the man’s finger tease his sensitive and stretched muscle. “We will.”

 

Mick groaned and leaned in for a kiss, sloppy and purposeful.

 

The man pulled away with a smack and stepped away, moving toward the door. He glanced back with his hand on the doorknob. “Mick?”

 

“Yeah, Captain?”

 

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “My name’s Leonard. In case you were curious.”

 

“Leonard,” Mick repeated, rolling the name around on his tongue. He internalized it, pairing the name with the Captain’s offstage persona, and nodded.

 

“Goodnight, Mick.”

 

“‘Night, Captain.”

 

With a short laugh, Leonard stepped out into the night and closed the door behind him, leaving Mick alone in the darkness. Mick turned on the light and padded into the kitchen to grab something to clean up the mess on the wall and the floor. He vaguely wondered what had happened to the condom, but didn’t spend too much time thinking about it as he got on his knees and scrubbed at the wall.

 

The Captain —  _ Leonard _ — had left him sore in all of the best ways, his skin still singing from where he’d been touched and a new, frazzled energy still dancing beneath his skin. Leonard wasn’t like the men Mick normally hooked up with. He was  _ more _ , somehow. Not just that, but for the first time since he was a kid, Mick didn’t feel like the world was caving in on him. He didn’t feel the need to reach for a lighter and burn the house down around him.

  
For the first time since he was a kid, he felt calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely something I needed to write after tonight's LOT episode because _wow wow wow_ , so many emotions from these two.


End file.
